Floyd’s suspicion that Madison was now a city without roosters was confirmed when the first golden light of day shone with silence into the warehouse. Photons passed through the wooden frame of the absently hinged doorway. He followed the beams of light as they absorbed into the face and hair of his deep sleeping sister Eliza, who lay undisturbed by the brightness next to Saul and Lawrence. Floyd mused it was as though she had magnetized the sun.
He was thankful night had passed without incident, and was eager to get an early start on the day, but convinced himself to be patient. A good night’s rest would benefit them all. He wondered when he might take a nap himself, knowing it wouldn’t be until after their business with the Lorekeepers had been taken care of. Floyd was eager to acquire the supplies he and Eliza needed in order to repair their home before winter.
As the sun warmed his eyes, Floyd realized that he had begun nodding off, which was enough to convince him to wake the others. As he rose from his position on the floor, where he had silently watched the night unfold without moving, an eruption of gunshots rang through the air, echoed with impassioned yells, and the minor quaking and dust of explosives.
“This is why I avoid the cities,” thought Floyd.
The group was sufficiently roused by the ruckus going on outside.
Lawrence was the first to ask, “What the Hell is going on out there Floyd?”
Floyd shrugged and signaled for everyone to keep quiet and take cover, motioning to the couches. He then moved silently to the entrance and slowly, ever so slowly, stuck his head beyond the doorframe to peek at the havoc. As he breached the entryway, a thunderclap and a brush of air told him that the gun, heralding the thunder just heard, had been aimed for his head.
He pulled his skull back into the warehouse and tumbled over a three-legged footstool in the process. As he was flung to the ground, he wondered if the gunman’s accuracy might have been so superb that instead of a miss, the shot that had nearly killed him had been an all-too accurate warning.
“It wasn’t luck, it was a show of mercy,” he mumbled as he found his footing again.
“Floyd!” yelled Eliza, rushing to his side.
“I’m alright,” said Floyd. “Okay, obviously, I didn’t have time to take a great look out there, but I did manage to see the Phil from last night headed in our direction. There were a few more Phils with him, but they weren’t the ones who fired at me, I’m sure of that.”
“They may not be our enemy, Floyd, but all the same, I don’t wish to become involved in their war with the Waltzers. We have to get out of here,” said Lawrence.
As Lawrence finished his sentence the Fighting Phil, who had grudgingly allowed them to stay the night, entered the warehouse, and was not at all amused upon finding the group huddled behind couches.
“What are you all still doing here? Are you so naïve? Can’t you see that it isn’t safe for you here; you should have left well before dawn. You’ve endangered my brothers.” He looked at the stain on Lawrence’s shirt and asked, “Is that rat shit?”
“You keep a beautiful home,” said Lawrence with a sneer. “You could have warned us about the whole ‘war at dawn thing,’ last night when last we spoke if you knew it was going to become an issue,” said Lawrence, with temper rising.
Saul piped in, “Yeah, it’s not as if we wanted …” but was interrupted by the whirring of multiple steam powered spears piercing through the warehouse wall. The weapons were reasonably successful in their assault, and now the companions could see outside through patches of splintered wood.
“Quiet. There’s no time for excuses from you. If you want to get out of here alive you will have to join our cause. How are you all with handling guns?” The Fighting Phil, not waiting for an answer, began to distribute muskets throughout the group.
“Fine,” agreed Floyd, Eliza, and Lawrence, each casually accepting the weapon and arching an eyebrow when the Phil’s back was turned.
“I’ve never…” began Saul.
“He’s a quick learner,” said Floyd. Grabbing the fourth musket from the Phil and handed it to Saul. As the Fighting Phil began to inch his way back to the doorway, Floyd showed Saul how to lock, load, and aim his gun, in a series of swift motions. The Phil was fully focused outside the doorway and developed a plan of action.
“We can’t stay here any longer,” he said. “Those Crawley bastards have dynamite and they haven’t been shy about throwing it around. Follow me close. They’ll be surprised to see that our numbers have doubled. We have to each fire a single shot in their general direction to scare them. If you hit them, great, just don’t kill each other, and don’t shoot more than that first bullet until we find cover.”
Gunshots continued to paint the exterior wall. Between the bullets flying through the air and the sound of his own voice, the Fighting Phil assumed that his new allies were waiting for further command. With the need to keep watch on the entryway and feeling as though he had the groups’ full admiration and attention, he continued. “Now, after we get past the first round of volleys, and trust me, we will, run north, and circle the lake to the east. On the other side, we can find refuge at our training facility where…”
He looked over his shoulder and became outraged upon seeing Eliza and Lawrence disappear through the back door, with Saul and Floyd at their heels.
“Deserters!” yelled the Fighting Phil. “Good for nothing traitors! I’ll flail your hides when I see you next!” He shot with wild aim at them through the doorway, missing wide. “You won’t be forgiven for this treachery!” he continued, and shot again. Then, shaking his fist, he offered one final curse, “Waltzers!”
Floyd’s suspicion that Madison was now a city without roosters was confirmed when the first golden light of day shone with silence into the warehouse. Photons passed through the wooden frame of the absently hinged doorway. He followed the beams of light as they absorbed into the face and hair of his deep sleeping sister Eliza, who lay undisturbed by the brightness next to Saul and Lawrence. Floyd mused it was as though she had magnetized the sun.
He was thankful night had passed without incident, and was eager to get an early start on the day, but convinced himself to be patient. A good night’s rest would benefit them all. He wondered when he might take a nap himself, knowing it wouldn’t be until after their business with the Lorekeepers had been taken care of. Floyd was eager to acquire the supplies he and Eliza needed in order to repair their home before winter.
As the sun warmed his eyes, Floyd realized that he had begun nodding off, which was enough to convince him to wake the others. As he rose from his position on the floor, where he had silently watched the night unfold without moving, an eruption of gunshots rang through the air, echoed with impassioned yells, and the minor quaking and dust of explosives.
“This is why I avoid the cities,” thought Floyd.
The group was sufficiently roused by the ruckus going on outside.
Lawrence was the first to ask, “What the Hell is going on out there Floyd?”
Floyd shrugged and signaled for everyone to keep quiet and take cover, motioning to the couches. He then moved silently to the entrance and slowly, ever so slowly, stuck his head beyond the doorframe to peek at the havoc. As he breached the entryway, a thunderclap and a brush of air told him that the gun, heralding the thunder just heard, had been aimed for his head.
He pulled his skull back into the warehouse and tumbled over a three-legged footstool in the process. As he was flung to the ground, he wondered if the gunman’s accuracy might have been so superb that instead of a miss, the shot that had nearly killed him had been an all-too accurate warning.
“It wasn’t luck, it was a show of mercy,” he mumbled as he found his footing again.
“Floyd!” yelled Eliza, rushing to his side.
“I’m alright,” said Floyd. “Okay, obviously, I didn’t have time to take a great look out there, but I did manage to see the Phil from last night headed in our direction. There were a few more Phils with him, but they weren’t the ones who fired at me, I’m sure of that.”
“They may not be our enemy, Floyd, but all the same, I don’t wish to become involved in their war with the Waltzers. We have to get out of here,” said Lawrence.
As Lawrence finished his sentence the Fighting Phil, who had grudgingly allowed them to stay the night, entered the warehouse, and was not at all amused upon finding the group huddled behind couches.
“What are you all still doing here? Are you so naïve? Can’t you see that it isn’t safe for you here; you should have left well before dawn. You’ve endangered my brothers.” He looked at the stain on Lawrence’s shirt and asked, “Is that rat shit?”
“You keep a beautiful home,” said Lawrence with a sneer. “You could have warned us about the whole ‘war at dawn thing,’ last night when last we spoke if you knew it was going to become an issue,” said Lawrence, with temper rising.
Saul piped in, “Yeah, it’s not as if we wanted …” but was interrupted by the whirring of multiple steam powered spears piercing through the warehouse wall. The weapons were reasonably successful in their assault, and now the companions could see outside through patches of splintered wood.
“Quiet. There’s no time for excuses from you. If you want to get out of here alive you will have to join our cause. How are you all with handling guns?” The Fighting Phil, not waiting for an answer, began to distribute muskets throughout the group.
“Fine,” agreed Floyd, Eliza, and Lawrence, each casually accepting the weapon and arching an eyebrow when the Phil’s back was turned.
“I’ve never…” began Saul.
“He’s a quick learner,” said Floyd. Grabbing the fourth musket from the Phil and handed it to Saul. As the Fighting Phil began to inch his way back to the doorway, Floyd showed Saul how to lock, load, and aim his gun, in a series of swift motions. The Phil was fully focused outside the doorway and developed a plan of action.
“We can’t stay here any longer,” he said. “Those Crawley bastards have dynamite and they haven’t been shy about throwing it around. Follow me close. They’ll be surprised to see that our numbers have doubled. We have to each fire a single shot in their general direction to scare them. If you hit them, great, just don’t kill each other, and don’t shoot more than that first bullet until we find cover.”
Gunshots continued to paint the exterior wall. Between the bullets flying through the air and the sound of his own voice, the Fighting Phil assumed that his new allies were waiting for further command. With the need to keep watch on the entryway and feeling as though he had the groups’ full admiration and attention, he continued. “Now, after we get past the first round of volleys, and trust me, we will, run north, and circle the lake to the east. On the other side, we can find refuge at our training facility where…”
He looked over his shoulder and became outraged upon seeing Eliza and Lawrence disappear through the back door, with Saul and Floyd at their heels.
“Deserters!” yelled the Fighting Phil. “Good for nothing traitors! I’ll flail your hides when I see you next!” He shot with wild aim at them through the doorway, missing wide. “You won’t be forgiven for this treachery!” he continued, and shot again. Then, shaking his fist, he offered one final curse, “Waltzers!”